The Bittersweet Ending
by katierosefun
Summary: [Modern day AU] Clara Oswald was a high school (or sixth form) student and helping her history teacher, the Doctor, pack his things. According to him, he was to leave the school and move to a different area to teach. Unknown to the Doctor, Clara hates to say goodbye as well. [Not a Whouffaldi unless you're wearing your Whouffaldi goggles.]


**I wrote this thing after visiting one of my favorite teachers...and then feeling really, really sad because he was taken off something that he always supported me with. I've known him for nearly three years and I think he's played and is still playing a really important role in my life. **

**So, what do writers do when they're sad? They write, and I'm sure that some of you can relate to this kind of situation. **

**Enjoy! **

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><p><em>The Bittersweet Ending<em>

There were tons of sad things in the world – poverty, natural disasters, wartime, death, heartbreak, rejection…the list could go on and on and on and never stop. Because there really _were _a lot of sad, wrong things with the world, and no one really knew how to stop it.

Seeing a teacher leave is probably one of those sad, wrong things with the world.

And Clara Oswald was actually _helping _this wonderful, amazing teacher pack his belongings to move to a different school – a different school that was far, far away from here…not even in the same _country. _No, her wonderful teacher was going to be moving to _America, _the land of stars-and-strips and bald eagles and rough accents. _Why _he needed to go there, Clara had _no idea_, but she _hated _it.

But of course, Clara couldn't say any of that out loud – she was too shy to, even now. Even after she'd known him for nearly _three years _and was practically his _assistant _and _friend. _

However, Clara supposed there was still an unspoken boundary between them – he was still a history teacher and she was still a sixth form student. She was in eleventh grade and felt like an adult, but again, she was still a child in the eyes of any other older person. Those simple facts were probably what kept Clara from showing any other signs of affection or care towards the older man – he was and always will be her teacher and she will always be his many students.

The sound of books sliding down from a shelf snapped Clara back to her task – helping with the packing. She shrieked in surprise as the books fell to her head. Luckily, they were paperback, so it didn't cause too much damage, but the sound of Clara's panic had brought her teacher from behind one of the boxes in the classroom.

"Clara? Are you alright?"

The brunette puffed out an embarrassed, annoyed breath and turned around to smile at the grey-haired man. "I'm fine," she replied, waving her hands. "I just didn't expect the books to fall out." She bent over, scooping the paperbacks into her hands. Almost immediately, her teacher strode over to gather the rest of the books.

•◦**_A Little Fact About Clara Oswald's History Teacher_**◦•

He didn't have a real name. Everyone in the school, including the principal, called him _Doctor_, or, when addressed indirectly, _the _Doctor. No one really knows why he prefers to be called that, but the name stuck. He wouldn't acknowledge to any other title than _Doctor_.

The Doctor was a silver-haired, blue-grey-eyed man with the age of who-knows-what. Of course, the signs of aging and physical maturity were all there, though he never actually _acted _old or aged. If anything, he acted the exact opposite.

To be quite honest, he was a stubborn, somewhat childish man, though he had the reputation of being not only a _very _good teacher, but having a _very _quick temper. It was something of a miracle that he had taken up Clara Oswald as his favorite student. (Though he wouldn't admit it.)

…and he was secretly dreading the idea that he was going to be leaving his student.

•◦◦•

"No, really, I've got it," Clara started to protest, shifting herself away from the older man. "You should go back to loading…textbooks or electronics or whatever you have in this room of yours."

The Doctor lifted an eyebrow, (and he had _quite _the set of eyebrows to do so,) though a quirky, odd smile twitched at his lips. "Are you suggesting for me to hurry up with the packing process?" He asked, his voice light – almost teasing. Clara instantly felt heat crawl up to her cheeks, though she indignantly snatched the rest of the paperbacks away from the Doctor's hands. "_No_," she said, pushing herself up to a standing position. She carefully balanced the small tower of books and after a few more seconds of adjusting her grip on them, repeated, "_No_. I just need to…do this. Or something. I don't know."

"Well, _that _answer is _certainly _clear enough, thank you, Clara," the Doctor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Clara rolled her eyes and managed to scrape enough strength to throw her teacher a rather convincing glare, which only got a quiet chuckle out of the older man. "I'm going to miss that," the Doctor said fondly, standing up. He brushed himself off and added, "Don't ever change that part about yourself, Clara."

Those few words brought another series of painful pangs to Clara's heart. She braved a grin up at him and quickly turned around before she could crumble to a pile of tears and sobs. She briskly strolled over to one of the open cardboard boxes on the desk and carefully planted the books inside.

It wasn't until she saw felt the Doctor standing behind her did she realize that she had spent the last few minutes toying with the box flaps. There was a short silence from behind Clara and for a while, she wasn't quite sure what the two were doing – were they both thinking? What was the Doctor thinking? Was he just as hurt by this sudden leave as Clara was? Was he waiting for Clara to speak first?

Clara couldn't take the silence any longer. She whirled around, only to see the Doctor's arm flop lifelessly to his side. It was now her turn to raise an eyebrow. "What were you doing?" She asked suspiciously. The Doctor's eyes darted from side to side and then, he craned his neck over Clara's shoulder. "I thought I saw something in your hair – oh, never mind. It was just my imagination." He chuckled again, though this time, it sounded more strained. "Must be the age finally catching up to me."

"You? Age? Nah," Clara replied, and glided over to the other desks, shifting through the boxes for any more organizing to do. She straightened the papers in numerous folders and binders, carried back a seemingly endless supply of framed photos and knick-knacks and transported a few more books into the other box. She was aware of the Doctor's eyes following her, though she didn't properly acknowledge it until he actually called her.

"Clara, can you stop moving around, please?"

Almost as if he had some sort of remote control, Clara froze in place and turned round to look at him. "Yes, Doctor?" She asked quietly.

The Doctor motioned to the space next to him. "Come over here," he replied, his face unreadable. Without hesitation, Clara strolled over to his desk. The Doctor looked down at Clara and said in a very slow, very soft voice, "I'm glad you were able to do this for me."

Clara's heart sank. She didn't want to hear those words. _No_, she wanted to scream, _you're not supposed to thank me for helping you pack! You're supposed to be telling me how you don't want to leave because you _don't! _You should be telling me that you're going to come back and we're still going to be able to talk and…no! You're not allowed to talk to me like that! _

Instead, she swallowed and replied, "No problem. It's fine." However, as those words escaped her lips, she realized that they had come out too fast – much too fast and she knew it as well as the Doctor, who seemed to stiffen and freeze in place. Feeling her heart pounder louder and faster in her chest, she hurried on, "I'm serious. I mean, I'm glad that you asked me to help you – it's wonderful, really, but…"

This was it. She couldn't bring herself to fake it anymore.

"_God_, why do you have to _go?_" Clara whispered, bringing her hands to her face. She rubbed them over her eyes and feeling the burning sensation in them, kept the hands over them. "I don't _want you to go. _At all. Why can't you stay?"

"You know it's not my choice, Clara," came the Doctor's quiet reply. "If I could stay, I would –"

"Then try to stay!" Clara interrupted, ripping her hands away from her face. Tears were brimming in her eyes now, and she couldn't control it. "_Do something! _You're just sitting there…almost like you're _alright _with the idea that you're leaving! Do you _know _how that _feels?_ You're…you're acting like we never even –"

That was when Clara burst into tears. Straight-out tears flooding from her eyes, small sobs spilling over her body, the entire nine yards – she wasn't even sure if she was overreacting or not, but she didn't care. To her, the Doctor was a bit more than a teacher – he was a friend, even if he was still a worker of the school. He was a friend who _always _seemed to be able to be there to listen to her or talk to her…_he _was the one who encouraged her to go on with whatever crazy dreams she had – _he _was the one who Clara went to after everything seemed to go wrong.

_How could she say goodbye to someone like that? _

"Clara," the Doctor's voice was soft and gentle, which only made the student want to cry a bit more, though this time, she didn't. She did, however, stiffen when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her body. A gesture – a final gesture of peace just before the storm. Clara wasn't quite sure if that made the situation better or worse.

However, she slowly sank right back into the Doctor, allowing her head to tilt forward and burrow into his shoulders. To her relief, the Doctor didn't seem to find that action awkward – if anything, he seemed to welcome it. He patted her back soothingly, and Clara couldn't do much except simply accept the small motions and motives the best she could.

"Not really the hugging type," the Doctor finally mumbled into Clara's ear when she lifted her head from his shoulder. The student managed to choke out a weak laugh before replying, "I don't think you have much of a choice in the matter." She wiped at the tears in her eyes and added, "I really _do _think you shouldn't…shouldn't…"

"I know, Clara," the Doctor replied, and this time, his lips turned downwards in a sad frown. "I don't want to leave, trust me – I don't want to go to a school where…I don't know anyone. Or understand anyone." He lifted a hand in a weak gesture of humor. "I mean, can you picture me in the _Americas?_"

Clara giggled feebly at the joke, though she supposed it didn't make her feel much better. The Doctor was still leaving.

The Doctor sat down on top of his desk, bringing Clara down with himself. "But the thing is, Clara, I think…everything's part of a larger adventure." He looked back at Clara and grimaced. "That sounded really, really cheesy, didn't it?" Clara shrugged her shoulders in response, though he went on, "And I think I can…return to my better adventures later."

Clara's voice was small when she spoke. "So…do you promise to come back when you can?"

The Doctor smiled and held up a hand. "I promise I'll come back if I can," he replied. Clara sniffed, dismissing the rest of her tears. However, she managed a surrendering grin in return. She tapped his hand and replied, "Good. You better keep that promise, because I'll move into America and find you if you don't."

The Doctor laughed. "I'll count on that," he said and stood up. "Come on, Clara – we've got more work to do."

So, Clara supposed she wasn't still completely fine with the fact that her favorite teacher was moving to a different country…but she guessed she could wait a few months, maybe a few years…as long as she got to see him again.

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><p><strong>AN - I feel like I'm going to be practicing more Twelve-and-Clara stories from now on. Mainly because I've developed an obsession with that ship/friendship. XD **

**Reviews are always appreciated! Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not!**


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